


and then the world moves on (but one thing's for sure)

by Lysippe



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff-A-Thon [23]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Hicsqueak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 01:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17173616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: But that first year, the first time Pippa had turned her doe-eyed, pleading gaze on Hecate -- the very same one that convinced teachers they didn’t really want to give the entire class extra homework, or that the other girls in their year would have far more fun leaving Hecate alone (even if that only worked in the moment, and they started up again as soon as Pippa’s back was turned) -- Hecate had been completely unprepared. Hecate had learned, over the course of the year, that Pippa generally got her way. That rare was the occasion where Hecate could truly deny her something she asked with such earnest desire.Pippa had wheedled and begged and said, “Won’t you please, Hiccup? Amelia Aster from fourth year told me how to sneak into the kitchens without getting caught, and I’m so hungry.”





	and then the world moves on (but one thing's for sure)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still catching up on posting (and definitely not doing this at work, because that would be irresponsible, and I wouldn't do that), so this is day 23(?), for "tradition." This is one of the ones that really took on a life of its own, and ended up being quite long when it was really just supposed to be a quick little thing. But also I kind of like it, and it's one of my many fics where Hecate Puts Her Foot In Her Mouth because that's just what she does.

It had started during Pippa and Hecate’s first year at Miss Amulet’s, and at the time, if anyone had told Hecate that it would become a tradition of sorts for them, she would have balked and refused outright. Even then, she would never have allowed herself to entertain the idea of such flagrant rule-breaking. But it  _ had  _ become a tradition, to celebrate the end of exams, and spend one last night together before heading their separate ways for the holidays. The origin, as Hecate had reminded Pippa every subsequent year, was Pippa’s insatiable cravings for all things sugary and sweet. 

But that first year, the first time Pippa had turned her doe-eyed, pleading gaze on Hecate -- the very same one that convinced teachers they didn’t  _ really  _ want to give the entire class extra homework, or that the other girls in their year would have far more fun leaving Hecate alone (even if that only worked in the moment, and they started up again as soon as Pippa’s back was turned) -- Hecate had been completely unprepared. Hecate had learned, over the course of the year, that Pippa generally got her way. That rare was the occasion where Hecate could truly deny her something she asked with such earnest desire. 

Pippa had wheedled and begged and said, “Won’t you  _ please _ , Hiccup? Amelia Aster from fourth year told me how to sneak into the kitchens without getting caught, and I’m  _ so  _ hungry.”

And Hecate, in her defense, had put up a steadfast effort at resisting.

“You’re  _ not  _ hungry,” Hecate said sternly. “I saw what you ate for dinner tonight, and it was easily twice what I did, and my stomach is perfectly content.”

Pippa gave an exasperated sigh. “I  _ am,  _ though! I’m hungry for sweets! Surely you can relate?”

Hecate shifted self-consciously on Pippa’s bed, the duvet wrinkling beneath her legs. Slowly, she shook her head. “I don’t care for sweets,” she said quietly. 

“ _ What _ ?” Pippa looked scandalized. “How can you  _ not  _ like sweets? They’re so…”

“Sweet?” Hecate supplied, amusement at Pippa’s outrage overtaking her own insecurity.

“No, Hiccup!” Pippa said, with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Delicious! Sweets are the best food group!”

Hecate crossed her arms and gave Pippa the best disapproving look she could muster, given the circumstances. “Sweets are not a food group,” she said. “And even if they were, they still wouldn’t be the best one.”

They had gone on for what felt to Hecate like hours, but in the end, she had given in, as she always gave in to Pippa. It was the dead of night, and Hecate was quite certain that every misstep, every stumble or stubbed toe, would bring their form mistress swooping down on them. But by some miracle, they had managed to make their way, all the way from Pippa’s room in the east tower, down to the kitchens without being detected. Pippa’s ‘trick’ turned out to be hiding in what Hecate was certain had to be the smallest storage closet in the entire school, where, per Pippa’s plan (though Hecate calling it that was quite generous), they would hide until the coasts were clear. 

The reality was less enjoyable. The closet was quite overfull already, and they were piled almost on top of one another, so close that Hecate could smell the honeysuckle shampoo that Pippa used. To Hecate, it felt like hours, though she knew that was hyperbolic. Nevertheless, she felt her heart seize in her chest when she heard their potions mistress swept through the corridor on her nightly rounds, certain that capture was only moments away. But she passed through without event, and Hecate felt Pippa give a low sigh of relief from where she stood, her face peering out of the cracked door. It was another few minutes before Pippa finally declared the halls officially deserted, the last of set of rounds seemingly completed for the evening, and their potions mistress tucked away where she had been going. 

“I’ll go first,” Pippa whispered bravely, pushing the heavy wooden door aside. It groaned as it creaked open, and Hecate felt panic grip her.

“Pippa!” Hecate hissed, grabbing the sleeve of Pippa’s nightgown as she made to open the door. “What if you get caught?”

“Then I’ll tell them I was sleepwalking,” Pippa said confidently. “They’ll believe me.”

Hecate knew she was probably right. Pippa had a way of charming people, of getting what she wanted and making people believe it was their idea. Hecate found it oddly admirable that she used that skill so rarely. But Hecate had no such good fortune, with only her impeccable record of behavior to lean back on. And while that might be enough to keep her out of trouble, she certainly didn’t want to find out.

But Pippa ignored her dubious look, and sprinted out the door and across the corridor before Hecate could say any more. She was smaller and more agile than Hecate had ever been, and in no time, she had successfully cast the spell to unlock the door to the kitchen. She pushed gently against the gnarled wood, testing the door as though she were expecting an alarm to go off at any moment. When none did, she turned back to Hecate -- whose face, nervous and pale, was staring at her through the closet door -- and motioned at her to follow.

Which Hecate did, because Hecate always did what Pippa asked of her.

And when Pippa’s eyes hat lit up with glee at the desserts left over from the end-of-term feast, tarts and cakes and donuts and more, Hecate remembered why, exactly, that was.

“ _ Hiccup _ ,” she breathed, as though it were the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. “I don’t even know where to begin! What should we take? Nothing much, or we’ll get found out for sure, but…” Pippa chewed her lip thoughtfully, debating.

Hecate, who had little by way of a taste for sweets, shrugged. “How about the pink donut?” she suggested, trying to hurry the process along so they could leave earlier rather than later.

“Just one?” Pippa looked disappointed.

“Or two, if you like. Maybe a donut and a cupcake. I can transfer them back up to your room, if you want.”

Pippa, however, seemed to have other plans. She moved along the array of sweets, grabbing donuts and toffees and cakes, two of each thing she took, until she had a plate piled high with treats. 

“You cannot  _ possibly  _ eat all that.” Hecate frowned. “And even if you did, it would make you ill.”

“ _ We _ can, together, Hiccup. And what’s the worst that happens if we don’t? We can vanish them and no one will be any the wiser.”

The worst that could happen, Hecate thought, was that she could be wound up in a sugar high all night, and get no sleep. The worst that could happen was her father could find out, could catch her trying to sleep it off. The worst that could happen was the punishments that would follow being caught engaging in such frivolities. But she didn’t want to burden Pippa with that knowledge, didn’t even want to think about those possibilities of she didn’t have to. So instead, she just said, “I don’t even like sweets.”

“Well, you can eat whatever you want from the pile then, and leave the rest, and no harm will be done,” Pippa said, frowning. “Please, Hiccup? It’s our last night together before we go home. Don’t you want to do something fun?”

Hecate almost told Pippa that she thought just spending time together was plenty fun enough. But then she remembered the voices of all the girls in their year, nasty whispers about how Pippa would never want to be friends with someone so drab and stuck-up. How it was all pity, and Hecate should be grateful that Pippa was so kind as to spend her precious time with someone like her. And she saw those bright, hopeful eyes, the look of triumph at having almost completed her first successful heist. 

“Of course I do,” she said, resolute. “Now let’s get back to your bedroom before someone comes by again and we get caught.”

Pippa beamed. “Hiccup, you’re the  _ best,  _ and I love you,” she said, as Hecate transferred the plate of contraband sweets away. 

Hecate felt her cheeks grow pink, but she wasn’t quite sure why. Pippa had always been rather effusive when she was happy, and Hecate had grown quite used to it, for the most part. The words  _ I love you, too,  _ floated around in her mind, pushed at the roof of her mouth. But something about them felt too personal, too intimate to share, even with Pippa. No matter how true they were.

Instead, she grabbed Pippa by the hand, and pulled her toward the door. “We’ll have to be quiet,” she said sternly, “or we will  _ definitely  _ get caught.”

It was only hours later, sitting squeezed together at the head of Pippa’s bed, their plate of desserts long since consumed, that Hecate had some inkling of why Pippa had been so determined.

“I’m going to miss you over break,” Pippa said suddenly. Hecate realized with a start that Pippa’s voice was a bit watery. “It’ll be nice to see my mum and dad again, of course. But I’ll miss you. Spending time with you and seeing you every day. It’s… the happiest I’ve ever been, I think.”

Hecate, who  _ knew  _ that her time with Pippa was the happiest she had ever been, no questions asked, shook her head. “It’s only two weeks, Pipsqueak,” she said, as gently as she could. In truth, she had absolutely no desire to go back to her own home for Christmas -- to no decorations and her father’s icy dismissal of her presence and the constant anxiety of wondering exactly when she would do something wrong again -- but she wanted so badly to make Pippa feel better, that she couldn’t bring herself to say any of it. “We’ll be back and you’ll be driving me batty again before you know it.”

“You’re right,” Pippa said, with a sniffle. “Why are you always right, Hiccup?”

Hecate shrugged. “That’s just the way I am.”

And Pippa had laughed, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her nightgown. “You would think that.”

“I mightn’t if I weren’t right so often,” Hecate said. Her voice was haughty, but some part of her hoped that Pippa saw through to the genuine fondness hidden behind it.

And from the way Pippa’s grin had broadened, Hecate thought she just might have.

 

* * *

“Is it really a tradition if we haven’t done it in thirty years?”

The words were out of Hecate’s mouth before she could stop them, before she could even tamping down on that rare impulse that made her speak her thoughts without her usual forethought, without tasting each word first, letting it sit heavy on her tongue, weighing its worth. It was so unlike her that it was a moment before Hecate even realized that she had asked the question.

Hecate watched as Pippa’s eyes shifted, bright eyes going dark, storm clouds gathering behind them. She could hear the words left unsaid, hanging between them in an awkward, uncomfortable silence in which Hecate heard but Pippa very pointedly did not say,  _ It could have been a tradition for the last thirty years, if you hadn’t taken that choice away from me _ .

Which Hecate knew was true. She knew, deep in her  bones, that despite everything she had done -- all the amends she had tried to make, all the ways in which their relationship had finally reached the steady, solid ground needed to build a foundation -- that her abandonment all those years ago still sat under Pippa’s skin, like an itch she would never quite be able to scratch.

That at one point, Hecate had felt it appropriate and necessary to decide on Pippa’s behalf that their friendship was not worth preserving. That Pippa was wrong to care about her. That she was wrong to love her, to want her. To want to be with her.

That it had taken thirty years for Hecate to face the wrongness of that decision, and even then, only just. Even then, not nearly enough. Hecate wondered, sometimes, if anything she could do would ever be enough.

In truth, Pippa had been so good through it all. So much better than Hecate deserved. Than she had ever deserved. She had done her utmost to forgive, to move on from the issues of their past, even when Hecate couldn’t bring herself to do the same. Because Pippa, at her core, was good like that. And that had always been part of the problem.

But even Pippa wasn’t good enough to bear that kind of betrayal without holding on to any kind of resentment. Hecate could see it, sitting behind Pippa’s eyes, cold and hard as steel behind the same overly pleasant smile she had always used to mask her anger. Because despite all things, despite thirty years of change and distance, Hecate  _ knew  _ Pippa. The years had changed so much in them both, but just as much had stayed the same.

Hecate saw that anger, as she had always been able to see it, no matter how hard Pippa tried to hide it, and awaited the acerbic response that she knew was fully merited. But instead, Pippa’s mask slipped into place, impassive and unreadable, and she just said, “Well, it  _ was  _ a tradition. And a good one, too. So, yes.”

And somehow, of everything that Pippa could have said, that hurt more than anything.

Because Pippa wasn’t wrong, not at all. It was a silly thing, a tradition from their grade school years, so far in the past now that Hecate had almost allowed herself to forget it until this moment. But it had, for so long, been  _ the  _ thing they shared. Every year, at the end of winter exams, for six years. And silly as it was, the knowledge that they had this one thing to look forward to in the brief time between when exams ended and when they had to go home for the holidays, had gotten them both through more difficult times than either of them would ever know. 

For Pippa, it had always been one last adventure to hold her through the break. Something, she said, to keep her from missing Hecate too badly. At the time, part of Hecate had always thought it was a lie, but Pippa had approached the topic so tentatively, so hopefully, each year, as though she were certain that this was the year Hecate was going to refuse, that Hecate couldn’t help but believe her.

For Hecate, though, their nighttime trip had grown and evolved in meaning over the years. It had started, as so many things did, as another indulgence for Pippa’s sake. But it was also a coping mechanism, one single moment of planned rule-breaking in which she would normally never indulge, before she went back to the oppressive silence and strictly regimented life that awaited her back home. It was a way to get the last of whatever small amount of mischief was simmering inside her, out before the holiday. And in later years, when she had fallen desperately and hopelessly in love with her best friend, despite her better efforts, it was the one night where she could forget that. Or at least ignore it, and just enjoy a simple night of mischief like she had when they were children.

And, in the end, it had been the catalyst for her decision to leave.

* * *

 

“Hiccup, come  _ on _ ! Last rounds are at eleven, and we need to get down to the kitchens before Inkswell reaches the basement! We’ve no hope otherwise.” By their sixth year, Pippa had their post-exam ritual down to a science. She had timed everything to the minute, and could predict with almost frightening accuracy when, exactly, the staff member on duty would be appearing on their nightly rounds. 

Honestly, Hecate found it rather impressive.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Hecate groused, finishing up the spell that braided her hair in a tight, neat plait down her back. 

“You don’t always have to be perfectly put together, you know.” Pippa gave an exasperated huff. “The objective is to  _ not  _ be seen.”

“And if that fails, I would rather at least be presentable as I defend myself to Miss Inkswell,” Hecate said primly.

Pippa just rolled her eyes. “You’re plenty presentable with your hair down, Hiccup, but whatever makes you happy. Now, can we  _ please  _ get going?”

“You do remember that I’m perfectly capable of transferring us directly into the kitchens, do you not?” But Hecate knew that Pippa would brook no argument in the matter. She had made this suggestion last year, and the year before, as well, even though transference spells weren’t taught until their seventh year. 

“Absolutely not,” Pippa said, resolute. “You know I detest transference. And anyway, that would ruin the fun of it all.”

Hecate, as she did every year, neglected to bring up that she found no particular enjoyment in either sneaking around or eating a mountain of sweets that just made her feel like she was in bad need of an anti-nausea potion afterward. Instead, she allowed Pippa to take her by the hand and pull her out the door, determinedly not thinking about how warm Pippa’s hand felt in hers, how steady and soft and comfortable.

These feelings of hers were becoming increasingly problematic, however. And the issue was not helped by the fact that Pippa had always been an effusively affectionate person. But every time the all-too-familiar jolt of electricity coursed under Hecate’s skin wherever Pippa happened to touch her -- whether it was a hug or an accidental brush of the fingers while studying -- it was followed by equally familiar nausea bubbling over in her stomach, and far, far too many unwelcome, unwanted thoughts.

Thoughts of running her fingers through Pippa’s long, silky hair, so unlike her own unruly mass of curls.

Thoughts of breathing her in, of being able to take the time to properly memorize the scent of her rosewater shampoo, her honey-scented soap, and the underlying scent that was just Pippa. 

Thoughts of being able to look at her,  _ really  _ look at her, and not have to worry about her eyes giving away everything she was feeling.

And if Hecate was being honest with herself, they weren’t new thoughts. They had been there, in the back of her mind, for several years. But something about this year was different. This year, they had become more vivid, more frequent, more utterly intolerable than ever before, and as melodramatic as she knew it was, part of Hecate felt like it was killing her. 

None of which were things that Pippa was aware of, and she never would be.

By the same miraculous luck that carried them through every year, they made it to the supply closet undetected, and slipped inside just as Miss Inkwell rounded the corner. 

Pippa, standing pressed against the door like she did every year, pressed her ear to the door, listening for the sound of footsteps receding. 

And Hecate, standing pressed against Pippa’s back like she did every year, could focus on exactly nothing of the sort.

The only thing she could focus on was the soft press of Pippa’s torso into hers; the way her heart was pounding in her chest as though it was trying to break free; the breaths coming shorter and shorter in her throat, catching with every inhale and making Hecate feel like she was going to pass out.

“I think the coast is clear,” Pippa hissed, but Hecate barely heard her. Barely paid any attention as Pippa inched out the door and dashed across the corridor.

Because a horrible, sinking realization had settled itself in the pit of her stomach.

She was in love with Pippa.

She was in love with  _ her best friend _ .

Who was absolutely, unquestionably, without a doubt,  _ not  _ in love with her, too.

And that was going to ruin everything.

She couldn’t do this anymore. Not to Pippa, and not to herself.

So, with her heart racing out of control as Pippa beckoned for her to follow her into the now-open kitchen door, Hecate made a resolution.

She would allow herself this night. This one night of silliness and closeness. She would go back to Pippa’s room like she always did, and fall asleep in her bed like she always did, and give Pippa the same fond but reluctant kiss on the cheek as an end-of-term goodbye.

And at the start of the new term, she would finally let Pippa go.

* * *

 

“Hecate,” Pippa said, somewhat impatiently. “If you don’t want to,  _ just say so _ , please.” 

Pippa was far less patient with Hecate now. That was one of the many things that had changed over the years. One of the many ways in which this Pippa wasn’t like the Pippa Hecate remembered from so many years ago.

It was for the best, she supposed, that Pippa no longer saw her through a rose-colored lens. That she no longer believed that she could fix Hecate, and didn’t want to anyway. That she saw Hecate for exactly who and what she was, and accepted her that way, thorns and storm clouds and all.

That somehow, she wanted to be with her anyway.

And given that, she thought, it would probably be for the best if Hecate were to at least attempt to be a bit less rigid, a bit less unyielding.

A bit more open to being the kind of person that Pippa once made her think she could be.

“I’m coming,” Hecate grumbled, but it was mostly for the sake of appearances. 

Pippa’s countenance softened. “Good,” she said softly, and took Hecate by the hand. “Now, come along. We’ve sweets to steal.”

“You are aware,” Hecate said as Pippa led her down the isolated corridor where her rooms were located, “that it isn’t actually stealing if you own the school?”

Pippa gave a great, exasperated sigh. “Well, it’s the best we can do, now, isn’t it? So, let’s not muddy the tradition with technicalities.”

Hecate elected not to question it this time. 

“Of course not,” she said, and from the way Pippa glanced back at her, she knew Pippa could tell she was being humored. 

But Pippa just tugged on Hecate’s hand, drawing her further ahead, to Pippa’s side. “Good. Now we’re in agreement, do hurry up. It’s quite cold, and I miss the warmth of my bedroom.”

Hecate said nothing, but gave Pippa’s hand in hers a gentle squeeze, a reassurance of her presence, solid and real and, this time, not going anywhere.

And when Pippa smiled back, it was warm and radiant as the sun, and full of promises of many years and traditions yet to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on Tumblr @ thebestdressedrebelinhistory


End file.
